


Mom

by HatterRed



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Family, Gen, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:24:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HatterRed/pseuds/HatterRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother's Day OneShot, for mommy!Fiona...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mom

_AN: So I waited ALL day for a Shameless/Fiona Mother’s Fic. Nada. So I made one. Happy Mother’s Day, guys!_

_I’m going with Monica abandoning them when Fi was 17, because I want to. I know I’m wrong. But I liked it better. And it’s my fic. I basically just created my own timeline for everything. Sorry._

_Go._

* * *

 

It had been a big deal when Fiona was little. She’d make cards and draw pictures in place of gifts and present them to Monica with shy smiles.  She’d trace her hand and try to spell “happy” and “Mother” and Monica would grin and hug her, squeeze her tight and tell Fiona how much she loved her, that Fiona was her special girl.

When Ian and Lip were born, Fiona would write their names on the cards too, and once they were old enough, she’d teach them to make their own. She’d teach all the Gallagher kids, eventually.

* * *

When Fiona is eight, Lip four, and Ian two, she found the card they gave to Monica stained and being used half as a coaster for some beer, and half as an ashtray.

This was first time Fiona didn’t like her mother—Lip was so proud of that card. She threw it away before he could see what Monica had done to it. Before he could be hurt by it.

This was also the first time she took care of her brothers—but not the last, because it wasn’t long after that she was trying to hail down a car for a ride to the emergency room because Ian’s head was too _hot_ and there was no one around to help her.

* * *

 Fiona is thirteen when Debbie is born. Frank and Monica come home, hand the sleeping baby to Fiona, and promptly disappear out the door again. They come home hours later, reeking of alcohol and what Fiona will later learn is weed. She spent the time learning how to take care of a newborn using trial and error, while making dinner for Lip and Ian and starting a load of laundry because Ian was down to his last pair of clean underwear.

She let Lip add her name onto the card that year, and after the kids went to bed, she took it from the counter and hid it in her room.

She knew Monica, _if_ she even found it, would just throw it out or use for drugs. It was too special for that, and she wasn’t ready for the boys to learn the truth about their parents.

* * *

At seventeen, Fiona can’t breathe.

Monica has abandoned them and Frank is practically non-existent, and Fiona hasn’t acted her age since she was seven.  

Lip is the first to “recover.” Looking at it now, Fiona realizes that his sudden shift into apathy on the subject was a way to ignore the pain and put up walls, more harmful than good, but at the time, she was just grateful to have the fourteen year-olds help. He especially took the pressure off of her regarding Ian, who, at age twelve had idolized Monica and was taking the whole abandonment thing like a bullet to the chest. (Fiona had felt like that too, once, back when she was standing on the edge of a road in some unknown place, wondering when someone was coming to get her.)

She had her hands full with little Liam, seven year old Debbie and Carl at six.

The four cards (one from Lip, at Ian’s insistence, one from Ian, a glitter-crazy one made by Debbie, and a joint card from Carl and baby Liam) sat on the counter for a week after the day. Debs wouldn’t let anyone move them, just in case Monica came back. Fiona didn’t have to heart to tell her that even if the day reminded Monica that she had six children in Chicago, they weren’t worth enough to her to come back.

The little girl’s heart had been broken enough.

Fiona found them in trash later, when she went to clean up after dinner, weary and almost in tears. She actually does start crying when she sees the handmade creations, full of crudely drawn pictures and glitter and misspelled words and broken, useless “I love you”s.

She pulls them from the bag, flattens them as best she can, and puts them in the drawer with the rest. She never tells the kids, lets them think that the cards are compost.

She continues on, making her siblings her life.

She didn’t want to abandon them like Frank. Like Monica.

* * *

Fiona is twenty now, and everything is calm.

At least, for this minute it is.

It’s summer and the camp has just finished. Debbie, sweet ten year old Debbie, has sent all of the campers home with their parents and/or guardians. Carl is the pool with Jimmy, Ian is at work at the Kash and Grab, and Lip was…well, she wasn’t sure where Lip was, but he wasn’t _here_ and the house was quiet.

It was strange. She had missed the noise when the kids were gone, and now that she had them back, _legally,_ she reveled in the constant chaos. But sometimes, on days like today, especially, with its memories, the quiet was nice.

Debs was cleaning up in the living room when Fiona found her. The coffee table was covered in paper and crayons and marker, and Fiona arched a brow.

“What happened in here?”

The redhead, wise beyond her years, gave her a small, sad little smile. “The kids wanted to make cards.”

Fiona nodded, moving past Debs with a kiss on the forehead, and went back upstairs to get ready for work.

* * *

She closed the front door quietly behind her, breathing out a sigh and relaxing for a quick second. Reaching down to take off her shoes, she forced her body back into mobility, wandering first into the kitchen to do the dishes.

She saw the card sitting on the counter, and picked it up cautiously. Ever since Monica had up and left, the kids had made one card every year that usually said something insulting. These were the cards that _didn’t_ go into the drawer. Secretly, Fiona thinks Lip convinced the others to start this just to make Fiona smile.

This card was no different. She opened it to see “Fuck You” spelled out in black Sharpie, and she shook her head and threw it into the garbage.

Fiona turned to the sink expecting dishes piled high for her wash, but there was nothing. She spun to face the laundry chute, but that was empty too. So she wandered the bottom floor of the house, searching for some kind of housework to be done, something that needed her attention.

But there was nothing.

Fiona smiled to herself, grateful for the kids unexpected help, and quietly jogged up the stairs.

She went into the boys' room first, to check on Liam. The toddler was sitting up, and he smiled when he saw her, raising his chubby little arms to be picked up.

She scooped him up and wandered into her room, singing to Liam softly under her breath to lure him back to sleep. Jimmy wasn’t in bed, probably out on some job, but the bed was far from empty. Six cards were laid out across the blanket, and Fiona shakily picked up the first on the pile.

_Fi,_

_Thanks._

_-Lip_

_P.S.-Something new for your “secret” drawer._

_P.P.S.-Happy Mother’s Day._

 

Fiona stared blankly at the card for a moment, before setting it down gently and lifting and opening the next.

_Fiona,_

_You’re better than she ever was .Don’t ever doubt that._

_Happy Mother’s Day, sis._

_Love,_

_Ian_

Tears began to form, making the next card blurry.

_Dear Fiona,_

_The kids asked me why I wasn’t making a card for my mom._

_So I made one._

_Happy Mother’s Day!_

_I love you!_

_Love,_

_Debbie_

At this point, Fiona is full on crying, silent tears streaming down her face. She was careful to hold the next card away from the falling saltwater, determined to keep them perfect.

_Fiona,_

_Little Hank said you weren’t my mom. So I hit him._

_Sorry._

_-Carl_

_(Debbie said I have to put Happy Mothers Day so you know what it’s from.)_

Fiona laughed as she put that one down and opened up the last one, one side written in Lip’s handwriting, and the other with a marker tracing of Liam’s little hand.

_Mom,_

_Happy Mother’s Day!_

_I love you!_

_Love,_

_Liam_

 

Fiona giggled, collecting the cards and running a hand over them with a smile. She looked at the still wide-awake baby on her hip.

“Did big brother Lip trace your hand?”

Liam grinned, sliding his fingers into Fiona’s hair, and looking at her with wide eyes.

“Mama.”

Fiona smiled at him, kissed his head and nodded.

“That’s right, baby. I’m Mama.”

* * *

When Fiona was twenty, she emptied out the drawer of Monica Mother’s Day cards and put in the ones _her_ kids made for her.

She might not have many friends or a college education or designer clothes, but Fiona had five awesome kids that considered her Mom.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 


End file.
